


Hair

by AnselaJonla



Series: Prompt fills [19]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnselaJonla/pseuds/AnselaJonla
Summary: A fic written for a prompt on the r/WritingPrompts subreddit:[SP] They took the brunettes first.





	Hair

The train was stopped between stations without warning. Masked men boarded every carriage, shouting and waving guns around. The ticket collector protested, but one of the men smashed him in the face with a gun. He's sitting up now, leaning against the luggage rock and moaning piteously, blood staining his blond hair red.

I don't know what's happening in other carriages, but in this one they sorted us by hair colour. They made all of us take off our hats and hoods so they could tell. Even hijabs and turbans were removed, sometimes by force. Children were ripped from their parents or grandparents whose hair colour was different, and shoved into the arms of the nearest matching adult. I'm holding onto a little blond boy now, his sobbing body shaking in my lap.

I don't know how long we sat there, huddled in our seats or on the floor. Eventually one of the men muttered something in response to his radio, and made a few hand signals in the air. They herded the brunettes off the train, leaving only a few people to guard us. We heard them barking orders, impatient at those who were understandably reluctant to make the drop to track level.

I was on the wrong side of the train to see, but I heard the gunshots. I heard the screams from the people who were looking out of the windows. I saw the masked men who came back on the train alone.

They took the elderly people next, the ones who's hair was so grey their original colour could no longer be determined. They were gunned down in cold blood too.

The third set of shots was fewer in number. It was the redheads and those with brightly dyed hair they took that time. Only a few people from this carriage, and probably not many on the whole train.

The black haired passengers went next, which was most of the black and Asian passengers. One of the Sikh men fought back, with a knife he'd been hiding at his waist. It didn't help; it bounced off a bulletproof vest and he was smacked with a gun and thrown off the train to be shot with the rest.

At least he tried I guess.

There's only a few of us left now, the blondes. We're all petrified, knowing what's going to happen if these men don't get what they want. Why won't the government just give them what they want? Why aren't they trying to rescue us?

They're herding us off now. They're dragging us to our feet, pushing us towards the door. The boy in my arms isn't crying any more, he's just frozen with fear.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

They're lining us up. We're facing the lines of the other dead bodies. All of them have been shot in the head.

I'm going to die. I'm really going to die.

The little boy is still in my arms. His head is tucked under my chin. I shift him lower down, and wrap my arms around him, as if they were tucked around my chest instead.

I can't save myself. I  _can_  try to save him.

I can hear the gunshots getting closer. They've started at each end of the line. I see one of the women to my left try to run. She's shot in the back. She takes a few more steps before dropping to the ground, her legs kicking against the dirt.

They're nearly at me. I hold the little boy tighter. Whisper to him to be quiet and still. I wonder how many other adults, how many parents have done the same. How many children are hiding in the bodies, afraid to move. Surely I can't be the only one.

The woman next to me falls. I flinch at the closeness of the shot. I'm next.

I don't want to die.


End file.
